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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216967">And Should The Seed Become A Rose . . .</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale'>DixieDale</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The (Mis)Adventures of Countess Liliann Moreau [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Persuaders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Halloween, Supernatural Elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:47:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,996</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216967</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Brett is introduced to an avid seductress of the female (if not necessarily entirely human) persuasion, thanks to a devious Judge Fulton, and Danny starts to feel a little neglected. Along with a little worried, since Brett also seems to have come down with a bad case of the flu.  Danny feels much the same, but with him it's more like the onset of allergies - a severe allergy to the Countess Liliann Moreau.  And the Judge?  He's either falling in love or having a bilious attack - the jury is still out!</p><p>NOTE: Set before any of my other 'Persuaders' stories.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The (Mis)Adventures of Countess Liliann Moreau [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986973</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And Should The Seed Become A Rose . . .</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Danny Wilde was in full form, eyes sparkling, enthusiastic smile on his face, his velvet dinner jacket, a rich royal purple this time in order to properly set off that turquoise and gold-thread waistcoat, reflecting the lights from the sparking chandeliers. </p><p>He'd been talking, telling Sinclair all about that new business deal, the one in Brazil that had turned out to be a bubbling sinkhole rather than a thundering rocket ship, and realized, in some disgruntlement, Sinclair had stopped paying attention at least three or four minutes ago.  Considering how hysterical that whole story was, especially with Danny's knack for spinning a funny tale even when the joke was on him, that was more than a little annoying.  </p><p>He followed Brett's line of sight, picking out the distraction without any trouble, a striking brunette in an elegant evening dress that was as distinctive as his own attire.  {"Even the same shade of purple!  How's about that for a coincidence!"}</p><p>"She's quite a looker, Your Dukeship.  An old friend?" Danny Wilde inquired as he sipped his cocktail, his tone so casual you'd think maybe he was inquiring if Brett had a pleasant drive over, whether he'd run into any rain on the way.  </p><p>"What?" Brett answered absently, his eyes focused on the shapely brunette now chatting with Judge Fulton.  "The Countess?  Oh, no, not at all.  In fact, I was just introduced to her by the Judge earlier in the evening.  Hopefully she is not part of that new assignment he has for us.  I know the Judge frowns on us mixing business with pleasure, but in her case, I must admit I would be sorely tempted.  I'd introduce you to her, Daniel, but she really is out of your league, you know."</p><p>Danny managed to keep from kicking Brett in the shins, or perhaps somewhere higher, but it took some effort.  He hoped he'd also managed to keep that impulse off his face, but he wasn't sure of that.  He wasn't sure of a LOT of stuff anymore, not where Lord Brett Sinclair was concerned, and frankly, he didn't like the feeling.</p><p>Wilde was in an uncomfortably tenuous position, at least to his own mind, something he wasn't accustomed to.  A man didn't get to his level of wealth and experience by being hesitant and unsure of himself.  He'd learned a hell of a long time ago to be in control, of his goals, of his actions and reactions.  And all of that meant being in control of the situation, having all the information available at his fingertips, having the resources to take advantage of any opportunity that showed its face.  That was how he'd clawed his way out of the slums of New York City, eventually onto Wall Street, and a hell of a lot of other places he'd never even heard of when he was a raggedy-assed kid running the mean streets.</p><p>Now, he was uncertain, not only of the situation, but what he wanted the situation to be.  He'd figured he had time to figure it all out, no big rush - at least if the Judge didn't get them killed first -  but this new addition onto the field had him uneasily aware that maybe he didn't have as much time as he'd thought.  Maybe it wasn't so much the way Brett was looking at the Countess, more about the way that dame had been looking at Sinclair, like she was measuring him for a wedding tux or something - somehow Wilde thought it was more of a 'something', though, and that REALLY made him uncomfortable.  Brett didn't always have the best judgement where women were concerned; of course, Danny had to admit he'd pulled some bone-headed plays while under similar influences.  Didn't mean he was happy about that look, really, either of them.  And the sly smile on Judge Fulton's face, the smug expression in those rheumy eyes, wasn't helping his unease one little bit.  It said a lot about his level of trust in their sometimes-master that such obvious and thorough self-satisfaction made all the warning bells go off.</p><p>Danny figured the Judge didn't much like what he'd seen of the increasing friendship between him and Brett, maybe what he'd guessed about that new development between the two men he'd shanghaied into service.  Just like with everything else, the Judge wanted to be the one to control their interaction, pull the strings, and probably didn't like the possibility of the varied complications such familiarity might bring.  </p><p>It was one thing to drop them into the soup, like the Judge tended to do at a whim, but he wanted to be the one to decide on which soup and when.  Them becoming anything other than solitary 'knights' brought together by HIS machinations was totally out of the question.  Why, they even might starting getting into projects together all on their own, without his divine guidance and initiative!  No, Danny couldn't see the Judge being all that thrilled about that.  He wanted them as tools, kept in separate bins, to be pulled out when he decided they were needed.</p><p>And for awhile, that was the way it had been, occasional partners, the modern equivalent of 'paladin knights' fighting for Justice under the command of a noble and righteous king (aka Judge Fulton).  (Please note the capital J in Justice; lord knows the judge did!!)  They'd work together on one of Judge Fulton's escapades, finish the job and each go their own way, do their own thing, then get back together again pretty much when the Judge needed them.  </p><p>Of course, there had been a time or two when they'd run across each other outside of that venue, but that had just been because, while they didn't necessarily frequent the same circles entirely, sometimes those circles overlapped.</p><p>So, okay, a time or two Danny DID alter the trajectory of his circle a little when he had the info that Sinclair was going to be in a certain place at a certain time.  He was an information gatherer, always had been, he'd just added 'whereabouts and doings of Lord Brett Sinclair' to the list of things his league of informants would be on the lookout for.  </p><p>The two men would meet, have a few drinks, catch up on things.  They'd spar a little, as usual, though mostly in the verbal sense anymore, playing a game not even they totally understood.  Then, having achieved a modicum of mutual satisfaction at the teasing, taunting interplay, would each go their own way.  Each with a beautiful woman, maybe two, on their arms, exchanging a smug look of triumph and superiority as they passed out of the other's view.  If either ever took a last glance backwards, looking for anything other than the expected envy in the other man's eyes, well, that was something neither man would ever have admitted to, not even to himself.</p><p>Danny didn't know if Sinclair felt the depth of the underlying tension between them, but HE sure did, enough to wonder just how strong, how mutual that tension - okay, he finally had admitted to himself, the SEXUAL tension - between them really was.  He waited for some sign, but other than a stray hint of something deeper, a worried glance or two sometimes in the middle of a job, that softening of Brett's eyes after they'd come out of another dire circumstance in one piece, he just couldn't tell.  And that wasn't like him; he prided himself on being able to read a situation, read the intentions of those around him, and frankly it just bugged the daylights out of him that he couldn't, not with Sinclair.</p><p>And the tension grew, at least on Danny Wilde's side, and he THOUGHT on Sinclair's side, though still he had no rock-hard evidence to go on.  </p><p>He'd upped his game, started flirting with the man, at first just a little, then eventually so over-the-top he was surprised the vice squad hadn't tapped him on his shoulder.  </p><p>Sinclair hadn't reacted, except with a long-suffering roll of his eyes, a disparaging remark or two about Danny's ignoring of civilized boundaries, perhaps a dry comment about Danny's tailor and the obvious error in the materials being chosen for the American's wardrobe - "perhaps that was meant for an Italian bordello?".  </p><p>Even Danny's latest move, confidently tucking his arm through the Brit's while strolling, had gotten nothing but a slightly-embarrassed, "Daniel, please.  Must you?", although it was interesting that Sinclair might complain, but he didn't pull away.  That wasn't really a rousing endorsement to the idea of additional familiarity, of course.</p><p>However, Danny Wilde was an odd mixture of optimist and pessimist, and rather than give up, he'd let the optimist take control, convince his inner pessimist that the lack of any firm negative reaction, ie. a quick slam of Sinclair's fist under Danny's jaw or worse, just might be a good sign.</p><p>So, yeah, he'd finally made a move on the sandy-haired aristocrat, though they'd both been filthy, smeared with smoke and grime and traces of blood.  Just rolled over in that battered-down horse stall when the two met up again so abruptly after thinking each other had probably bought it in the earlier gun battle, kissed the man like they were both drowning and it was the only thing that could save them.  And kinda to his surprise, Sinclair had reciprocated.  And how!  They'd retrieved the car, headed to the closest hotel with actual clean sheets and had one hell of a night, learning in the process that each were more experienced than the other had guessed.  </p><p>Well, before that, Brett had suspected his occasional partner played his somewhat-ambiguous persona just to amuse himself and possibly confuse onlookers.  And Sinclair had to admit, the contrast between Wilde's rough and tumble side and his sometimes over-the-top campy fashion style was eye-catching and provided excellent camouflage, whichever was the true intent.  Sometimes, over a final drink in the silence of his bedroom, Sinclair would ponder that.  {"Is he gay? But then, all those women?   Is he bi-sexual?  Or is he straight, but with a really unfortunate sense of fashion, or maybe an absurd sense of humor?"}. </p><p>Actually, that happened, that thoughtful musing, far more often than Sinclair found entirely comfortable.  Of all the important and/or interesting things he could be allowing to occupy his mind, the sexual orientation and/or preferences of the annoying American should have been near the last!</p><p>Meanwhile, Danny Wilde was doing a little of his own musing.  Although Sinclair had been intent on acting the total sophisticate, complete with that slightly weary, even jaded air - the 'seen everything, experienced everything, and not overly impressed with any of it' demeanor, Wilde hadn't been sure how far that really went.  </p><p>As much as he wanted to laugh at the man sometimes, and frequently did, there was something tantalizing about him at the same time, something that made Danny intentionally poke at him, trying to get a reaction, get a true read on him.  </p><p>Just what he was looking for, Danny wasn't sure, or at least wouldn't admit, but anyone who knew him well (and damned few did, other than possibly his irrepressible Aunt Sophie, who everyone agreed he took after far too much!) would have seen the same intent focus that meant the canny, even brilliant entrepreneur was once again scoping out a potential investment, measuring the possibilities, the risks, the costs, all in the process of deciding whether the odds were in his favor, and whether the outcome would be worth the effort.</p><p>So, they watched, evaluated - in essence, danced around each other for quite some time.</p><p>But that was before they'd wrapped up that weird job for the Judge, almost getting themselves killed in the process, then had that wild night together.  </p><p>But then circumstances had pulled them in different directions almost immediately thereafter, so they hadn't had a chance to further the experiment, or even discuss what had occurred.  </p><p>It was another three months before Fate, in the form of Judge Fulton, brought them back together, and Danny had been a little the worse for wear for the hiatus, enough the sight of his bruises had brought a frown of concern to Brett's face.  Oh, he'd been careful to downplay that rush of worry, the feeling of anger at whoever had left those bruises, but still, his eyes belied his overly-casual words, gave a hint of the feeling beneath.  </p><p>"My, my.  What have I told you about approaching the wrong ladies, Daniel?  Did one of them take offense at your pathetic attempts at seduction?  Or did someone take note of that jacket and sheer horror forced them to take action?"</p><p>Danny had snorted, shrugged it off with a swagger worthy of any swashbuckling movie hero.  "Yeah, right, Your Lordship.  You're a million yucks, ya know?  Never mind my bruises; you should see the other guys!", and that was partly true.  The other guys HAD come out with at least an equal amount of damage, but that wasn't the whole of what he had the uncomfortable feeling Sinclair had seen.</p><p>Oh, he'd glanced in that long gilded mirror on the casino wall, saw the bruises, but also saw more, a uncomfortable vulnerability that he couldn't remember seeing in himself since he was a hell of a lot younger - a vulnerability that he would have sworn hadn't been there when he'd left his hotel room earlier, hadn't been there til he'd met up with Lord Sinclair once again.</p><p>So, yeah, mostly it was probably the after-effects of that run-in with Colson and his mob, when Danny's usual adept spiel hadn't achieved what he'd expected it to, but partly it was because he was feeling a little (well, maybe a lot) unsure of himself where Sinclair was concerned.  </p><p>Had it been a fluke, that night they'd spent engaged in a different kind of contest, one in which there were no winners or losers, just a learning of how they each played the game, what moves they each brought to the experience?  Had it been merely a mutual release of tension after a job where neither had really expected to come out alive?  Or had it been, unexpectedly, the 'start of something big', as Wilde had teased the Brit once he'd tumbled the other man over onto those wrinkled sheets.  </p><p>There had been something in Brett's eyes, then and before, and not just shock at Danny's unexpected kiss in that burned out barn before they'd scrambled their way to safety and back to the car.  Oh, there'd been shock, all right, but surely Danny hadn't imagined that flaring of heat in Brett's eyes, the hitch in his breath, and no matter Sinclair's impatient if slightly breathless "do you REALLY think this is the time or the place, Daniel?", well, he hadn't said NO, hadn't slugged him or anything.</p><p>And back at the hotel, so, yeah, he'd been making a wise-crack, seeing they BOTH had the start of 'something big' going on, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind made him wonder if that maybe wasn't the truth after all. </p><p>Now, though, after the intervening months, they seemed to be back to square one, and while that was frustrating enough for the American, the addition of a slinky gorgeous Countess into the mix was annoying as hell.  </p><p>The brief meeting with Judge Fulton in the private library was even more so.  Brett didn't seem to notice anything, but Danny didn't trust that look he'd caught the Judge sending their way.  It reminded him too much the way the crochety old soul looked when he was pontificating on how HIS view of things, his inside knowledge, his sense of honor and justice (and on and on and on) was far more relevant than what anyone else might think.  That look had often preceded some highly-dubious complications, complications the Judge swore had merely been happenstance, but Danny didn't place a lot of weight on that claim.  Now, to see that look shifting back and forth between him and Sinclair, that ruffled the hair on the back of his neck.</p><p>Oh, the look itself wasn't unexpected; the Judge usually came up with something along those lines during every handing out of a new job.  The thing was, the Judge hadn't gotten around to even discussing the job yet.  In fact, it seemed the purpose of this briefing was to tell them they wouldn't HAVE that briefing for another few days; that "there is additional information I had hoped to have, indeed strongly anticipated having by this time.  Unfortunately, the courier has not yet arrived, and it would appear it will be at least several days, possibly the third or fourth of November before we can get down to business."</p><p>Still, the meeting was over, the Judge had smiled serenely over his glass of brandy, wished them a good night and farewell, and effectively dismissed them.  His last words were, "ah, Lord Sinclair.  Do be a good fellow and see that the Countess is well taken care of.  I had thought to do so myself, but I'm afraid I have other business to see to, and she is a newcomer to London.  I'd dislike for her to be neglected."</p><p>Brett had given the Judge his assurances that he would do that very thing, and had totally ignored Danny's sotto voce "somehow I don't think that dame is the sort to let herself be 'neglected' for too long, Your Lordship.  There's plenty of chumps out there ready to step in if she lifts her little finger.  Say, let's ditch this joint and go get that drink we were talking about.  I'll go say my goodbyes to Crofton and meet you by the door, okay?"</p><p>That got an absent, "yes, of course, Daniel.  In just a moment."</p><p>Somehow, Danny had misread that as a "yes, let's go get a drink," instead of a "please go away, you're bothering me."  Once he realized, which happened only as he watched Sinclair leave by the side entrance, the lovely Countess Moreau on his arm, he wanted to kick himself for not picking up on the nuances.  </p><p>He'd headed out to get that drink anyhow, figured he'd find some agreeable companionship of his own.  Then, finding himself on the doorstep of one of his regular haunts when he was in London, hearing the voices inside, he found he wasn't in the mood for having people around after all.  He'd spent the rest of the evening in his hotel room, glumly nursing part of a bottle of Scotch and wondering why he was so pissed.  Wasn't like Brett didn't have the right to go chasing after some high-class dame, especially as eager as that one seemed to be.  No skin off HIS nose, was it?</p><p>No, maybe not, but his mood hadn't improved, had gone steadily downhill, til he finally found himself, several days later, sitting by his partner's bedside, morosely watching that still form, that wan face, wondering about . . .   Well, wondering about a surprising number of things, actually.  He was still wondering when he drifted into an uneasy sleep.</p><p>Danny awoke with a start, shivering, so cold he halfway expected to see his own breath hanging in the air in front of him.  His first thought was of Brett, that the man didn't need to get chilled on top of whatever else was wrong with him.  He rose to pull the quilt up a little higher, then went to turn up the heat in the flat.  It shocked him to find the temperature on the thermostat right where it should be, despite the chill he could still feel, but he could now tell that was coming deep from within him, not from the outside.  He still turned the thermostat up a few degrees, needing the additional warmth to drive away the ice that seemed to be flowing through his veins.</p><p>Of all the crazy dreams!  Oh, it had started out just like when he'd made that last call to Brett, coming here, finding him like that, but then it got freaky real fast.  Now, remembering that shrill denunciation, one thing Danny knew, that broad, Countess or not, was freakin' nuts!  Something about a family curse?  Yapping on about true love?  Calling it a 'disease', accusing him of having a fatal dose of it?  HIM?  And who she'd claimed was on the other side of that 'true love'?  Yeah, that was nuts alright!  Oh, he admitted there was something going on between him and Lord High And Mighty Sinclair, something he didn't quite understand yet.  But true love?  Yeah, right!!</p><p>Like he believed in any of that crap anyway!!!  Maybe for some people, though he had his doubts there too, but even if it did, it sure as hell wasn't in the cards for him!  As much as he'd fooled around in his life, starting with sixteen year old Sadie Nerkowski when he'd just turned fourteen, all the dames, all over the world - smart, dumb, fancy, rough and everything in between, along with a few samples of a different persuasion - if that particular ailment was going to hit, it would have happened a hell of a lot sooner than now, and not with a stuffy English lord, either!  Hell, he was in his forties, too old, too smart; had walked a solo path for too damned long to think about it being otherwise now!  </p><p>"True love??!   Yeah, she was nuts, alright!"</p><p>He heard his own voice, those words, echo in the stillness of the flat, and an uneasy frown now turned his indignation to something quite different, this time a look of concern for himself, his own sanity.  He quickly shook himself in annoyance.  That was just nuts, what he'd been thinking!  Had the Countess even BEEN here when he arrived? He would have said no, but then why that way-too-clear memory of her, here, in this living room, giving him holy hell??!</p><p>"That is, she would have been nuts if that dream had been real, but it wasn't," he told himself firmly.  But now, all of a sudden, he wasn't sure what was dream and what was suppressed, now half-remembered reality.  He didn't like that thought, not at all.</p><p>Carefully he walked into the living room, glanced around, then over to check to make sure the door was locked; then, on second thought, the windows too, never mind they were on an upper floor.  The room was empty of that unwelcome presence, but he knew she'd been here rightly enough, though whether after he'd arrived or only before, that was still a toss-up.  In any case, he hoped the smell of her perfume would dissipate soon; it was giving him a royal headache.  </p><p>Returning to the bedroom, he checked once again on the man sleeping under the royal blue quilt.  Brett was still too pale, his breathing still too laboured.  The doctor had come, given a thorough examination but was left shaking his head, uncertain of just what was causing that lassitude, the overwhelming fatigue and confusion, and all the other symptoms.  He'd ended up saying it might be a mild case of the flu, but Danny thought it had come on pretty damned fast, right after that cocktail party.  Hell, Brett had seemed fine then, had agreed to leave after they'd mingled a little more, go share a drink and some laughs.  Then he'd disappeared with that Countess Moreau without even a word, leaving Danny there without even a backward glance.</p><p>And that was another thing that didn't seem right.  Brett had left with the Countess, hadn't showed his face for two whole days, and when Danny had called the flat, he could tell Brett wasn't alone.  The female voice in the background had been distinctive, enough Danny knew it was the aristocratic brunette.  Each time he'd called, that voice had been in the background, and each time Brett had sounded worse and worse, his voice weak, his words vague, confused, and he seemed to be having trouble catching his breath.  Would someone like Sinclair, the consummate gentleman, allow a lady to stick around if he knew he was getting sick?  Would a lady have WANTED to stick around, chance catching whatever bug Sinclair had picked up? That just didn't sound right, either part.</p><p>Finally he'd given in to his frustration and worry (and, admittedly, his jealousy), and told Brett on that last call that "I'm coming over to check on you, pal.  Put some pants on, okay?  I don't want to go blind or anything."</p><p>He made his way over to the flat.  Oh, he'd knocked first, but with no answer, he'd girded himself for a good yelling and used his own key, one Sinclair had given him once and neglected to take back, to gain entrance.  The living room was empty.  At least one memory said it had been, but in another, underlying the first, there had been a gently-smiling Countess Liliann Moreau, lounging on the sofa as if she was expecting him.</p><p>"Where's Brett," he demanded, not bothering with charm or graciousness, neither of which he felt anyhow.</p><p>"He's sleeping.  He was quite weary and decided to take a nap.  He suggested I entertain you, Mr. Wilde.  But that is far too formal.  Shall I call you Daniel, or do you prefer Danny?"</p><p>He had to admit that smile was a real killer, her voice like velvet stroking against his skin.  He should have been a lot happier about the idea of her 'entertaining' him, but all he could feel was an impatient concern for his sometimes-partner.</p><p>"I think I'll take a look in on him," he offered, open challenge in his eyes, his voice.</p><p>She only looked amused, waved a languid hand toward the master bedroom.  "Oh, do be my guest.  You'll find him all snug and sleeping like an infant.  Somehow he seems to have over-exerted himself, or perhaps he is coming down with a cold.  A nice long nap will probably do wonders for him."</p><p>And it did appear Brett was sleeping, though Danny didn't like the combined general pallor and flushed cheeks.  It did look like maybe he was battling some bug, but that didn't explain why the Countess had stuck around.  Danny KNEW Brett when he was sick or injured; he wasn't a very pleasant companion, full of demands and complaints and a particularly annoying way of whining when you didn't immediately fulfill his requirements.  He couldn't see someone like the Countess putting up with that; hell, he had a tough enough time putting up with it himself.</p><p>Carefully closing the bedroom door, he headed back to the living room. He was pretty sure the number for Brett's doctor would be in the personal directory kept in the desk, and what was the use of being Lord Brett Sinclair if you couldn't get a medical housecall when you needed one?</p><p>He knew THAT memory was consistent, felt steadier for that, but then it all wavered again, two memories blending, only one emerging.</p><p>She'd stood between him and the desk, her long black gown fluttering around her, the deeply-fluted skirt twisting on the floor like the tentacles of some sea creature.  He started to move around her; she paried, almost in a slow patterned dance, those tendrils moving in a like motion.  He pulled his eyes away, having the feeling that odd movement could hypnotize a man if he wasn't careful, might gather him into a net from which he might never be able to win free.</p><p>For a minute it looked like he was going to have to move the woman forceably out of his way, for she seemed determined not to let him get to the desk and the phone.  That pout pulled her pretty mouth out of shape, and for the first time Danny noticed just how odd that shape was beneath her deep red lipstick.  Well, perhaps not the shape of her mouth, but now, with that new expression, with her lips compressed and thinned out, her teeth showed through far more, and there was just something off about them.  </p><p>He felt the hair on the back of his neck go up, {"vampire!"} and uneasily he laughed at himself.  {"Too many scary movies at the old movie house, Danny-boy.  Still, makes you wonder when Bela Lugosi is gonna show up."}.  </p><p>He realized that was a really freaky thought, put it down to his worry over Brett.  Still, when she tried to put her arms around his neck, whispered a few licentious suggestions he normally would have been firmly in favor of, sent a puff of warm teasing breath onto his cheek, he quickly shied away, repelled.</p><p>"I don't think so, lady.  I gotta see about a doctor for His Lordship.  You might want to see one too, in case whatever he's got's contagious.  Wouldn't want you coming down with sneezes and coughing and a runny nose and all that sort of thing.  Not an attractive look, probably ruin your makeup," changing his path to move around her.  Glancing back he added, "and you might want to check out a good dentist while you're in town.  I hear they can do wonders anymore."</p><p>That frown contained as much puzzlement as anything else.  She wasn't used to rejection, and that dismissive tone of voice was just rude!  And did that last comment mean he'd actually seen, or perhaps just sensed, her now-elongated fangs, the sharpening of her teeth in anticipation of another round of feasting??!  That should not have happened!</p><p>Quickly she exhaled, sending out a mist that enveloped the room, sending the American collapsing onto the royal blue sofa.  </p><p>She smiled.  He was much more attractive when he wasn't talking.  Oh, he was a little older than her usual choice, slightly older than the robust one in the bedroom, but still, quite attractive.  Liliann was sure he would be able to provide a very nice dessert after her many course banquet with Lord Sinclair.</p><p>But it seemed that was not to be.  When she got close enough to touch him, now that his conscious mind was subdued and out of the way, her fingers started burning and although she persisted, she had to give way and snatch her hand away.</p><p>She stood there, thunderstruck!  It couldn't be!  It simply could NOT be happening again!  She'd been so sure that fiasco back in the 40's had been an aberration, something she would not come up against again, at least for a very, very long time.  I mean, what were the odds?</p><p>Snarling she tried to figure that out, precisely, but mathematics had never been one of her strong points.  Still, for hundreds of years she'd played this game!  Until that awful October vacation her Cousin Tish had arranged, she'd been denied fewer times than she had fingers on her left hand!  </p><p>Then, on that October vacation during that absurdly-named 'World War II', she'd tried for fourteen men during one short span of time, all warriors, all highly tempting in what they could provide, and what had been the result?  Besides horrendous, I mean?  </p><p>One had turned out to be too closely related to her own kind, enough she couldn't feast on him; brine and viper's spit would have been more palatable than Hogan turned out to be!  Of the others, ten, TEN! had been infected with the sort of disease that formed the only true barrier to her - true love - and only TWO of those had been exclusively with a human female!  Damn that curse and the Old One who had placed it on her family!  Two of the others she had ventured had turned out to be quite lovely, of course, but two does not a feast make, or a successful vacation either!  Oh, there was that last one, in London, but he was simply an emergency snack, similar to what they so quaintly called 'K Rations' - providing energy of some degree but hardly with any real taste or satisfaction involved.</p><p>Well, she certainly hadn't expected to find anything of the sort HERE!  And although it was an image of the English lord that rested within the Amerian's mind, his heart, Lord Sinclair had shown no trace of the disease!  Yes, there had been a slight hesitation in the man, perhaps.  He'd initially tried to make arrangements to meet with her on the following night, claiming he had promised his friend to go and have a drink together.  It had taken a teasing whisper in his ear, accompanied by just the faintest puff of her compelling fog to convince him to leave with her then and there, to take her back to his flat.</p><p>It probably would have come as a surprise to no one who knew her that the Countess had given vent to her frustrations in a long and quite loud disclaiming of how unfair it all was, how disappointed she was, and how she just wasn't going to stand for it!  In the end, she had, though, or at least had left, though whether by the front door or just disappearing into thin air, Danny couldn't have said.</p><p>Danny fought to sort out memory from illusion, but the boundaries were too faint, enough he wasn't sure where one ended and the other began.  There'd been something about roses, he thought, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out where that would fit in.</p><p>He decided to focus on the doctor and his visit, forget about the Countess for now.  Things sharpened, became clearer to his mind.  He took a long drink of the strong black coffee he'd just poured, let himself remember.</p><p>The doctor had not been thrilled to answer the phone, much less come over that late, but the name Lord Brett Sinclair had its usual impact, and the dignified looking elderly man arrived promptly.  Danny told him what he knew, the basics, which really wasn't much of anything since there was one hell of a lot he had no intention of saying out loud.  He didn't figure putting himself in line for a psych evaluation would help matters in any way.</p><p>Dr. Beauchamp opened his old-fashioned medical bag and pulled out a variety of items - a stethoscope, a tiny flashlight with a coiled extension on the end, a small pinto pony complete with cowboy astride.  </p><p>Danny couldn't help it, he just had to point and ask, "uh, you gonna bribe him with the horsie if Brett refuses to open up and say 'ahhh', Doc?  What, you run out of lollipops?"</p><p>Beauchamp gave a resigned sigh.  "My grandchildren are visiting.  At least it's only that one this time.  You should have seen the mess and disorder when my granddaughter decided her canary would like to inspect my bag.   Lady Guntherson was not happy when the creature flew out in the middle of her examination, and it was quite a nuisance trying to catch it again.  I lost a long-time patient, and needless to say, the canary was not overly pleased either.  When I returned home, I was scolded, told I shouldn't take Beepers on an outing without checking with Rachel first, and later was informed I needed to install a window in my bag so 'Beepers' could look out! I had to sterilize everything three times before I felt confident in using them again."</p><p>However, the attention quickly moved back to the silent man in the big bed.  </p><p>"Ummmm, well, if nothing else, I believe His Lordship needs to hear a few prudent words of caution about his personal activities," Beauchamp mused, gently pushing back into place the folds of the dressing gown Brett was wearing.  </p><p>"Huh?" Danny asked from the doorway, trying to stay out of the way.</p><p>"From those marks, it would appear he got somewhat carried away.  He has actually managed to develop considerable bruising in the genital area!  It goes far beyond enthusiastic, in my professional opinion!  And those bites, for they can be nothing else; the dentition would be apparent to anyone, even one of my grandchilden.  Well, Alfred did have the habit before Mildred managed to break him of it.  And those, the ones His Lordship is sporting, they ARE rather more than love-bites; quite deep, and from someone with a well developed tooth structure.  I'm surprised they didn't bleed more, actually.  Perhaps his partner wiped the blood away before she left.  That is, . . ." and Beauchamp frowned and gave Danny a quick suspicious look.</p><p>"Hey, doc, not me, I can promise you that!  Though I've seen the dame around, know which one it was, but never thought about her being the biting kind, ya know?  Seemed too classy for that kinda stuff," Danny protested.  He might not mind a quick nibble now and again, but sinking his jaws all the way into someone only happened in a down-and-dirty, no holds barred fight to the death, not during fun and games.</p><p>"Well, His Lordship should discourage any future such activity.  Do you have any idea how many germs are in the human mouth?  By the way, do you know when he had his last tetanus shot?"</p><p>Actually Danny did; at least, knew there had been one administered to each of them after a scrape that ended up involving rusted wire and nails, and that had been probably six months ago.  Not one of their more elegant cases, they both had admitted as they dropped their trousers at the stern command of that country doctor wielding the hypodermic.</p><p>"Well, that should be alright then.  I'll clean the bites, put on an antibiotic cream.  The bruises should fade as quickly as bruises usually do for him; that varies individual to individual, of course.  The exhaustion, though, the difficulty breathing, the fever - all of that is rather more disturbing.  Do you know if he has recently been exposed to anyone exhibiting similar symptoms?" Beauchamp asked, frowning as he once again listened to Brett's heartbeat, those struggling lungs, lifted those heavy eyelids to peer deep within.</p><p>Danny shrugged, "he travels, a lot; knows a lot of people, gets around, ya know?  I've been gone for awhile, just got back a few days ago, and only spent an hour or so with him then."</p><p>"Well, he's contracted something, and I would suggest he remain isolated until we see if this improves or not with the usual pallative care.  You say he would not want to go to hospital, and I won't object to that decision.  But he certainly can't be left alone."</p><p>Receiving Danny's assurances that he'd stay, get in help if need be, the doctor nodded complacently.  "I'll give him a vitamin shot now, leave you with a prescription for antibiotics.  The pharmacy on the corner is open twenty-four hours; I'll call in and confirm with them before I leave; they normally have a runner to do deliveries.  Bed rest, simple meals, no alcohol, and call me if there is no improvement by this time tomorrow.  And, of course, if he worsens dramatically.  I'm around the corner, so I could be here quickly."</p><p>Danny showed the man out, locked the door, headed to the kitchen to put on another pot of coffee, and went back to the bedroom.</p><p>"What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Brett?" he asked softly, looking at his sometimes-partner with a worried frown on his face.  "The doc was sure going on about those bites, and I gotta say they are pretty weird.  I sure wouldn't want someone taking a chunk outta me like that, much less however many you've got there.  He DIDN'T say anything about that mark on your neck; two marks, actually.  Looks like a big snake got you there.  Guess he didn't figure it was worth mentioning considering all the rest.  You need to be a little more careful about the dames you bring home, ya know?  Leave out the really kinky ones, the vampire ladies especially."</p><p>He stopped, flushed.  Where the hell did THAT come from, 'vampire ladies'??  Kinky, sure, that was obvious from the condition he'd seen Brett's body was in, but vampires?  </p><p>"Hell, it's not even Halloween yet!" he swore.  Glancing over at the small folding calendar on the tallboy, though, he realized that, it was.  Or, at least, it had been, as early as of a few hours ago.  He sniffed the air once again, relieved that the perfume the Countess had been wearing was starting to fade away.  How something could smell sweet and flowery and yet leave such a nasty aftereffect, he just didn't know - part swamp, or maybe a fish pond gone rank, with a hearty undertone reminiscent of various houses at the local zoo.  He couldn't decide if it was more cat or primate or the bird house, but it was definitely non-human.</p><p>"Nevermind whether HE can drink, I'm gonna!  I sure as hell need one!  A large one!" he muttered as he headed back out to check on the coffee and pour himself a large Scotch.  </p><p>"I think, once Brett is back on his feet, I need to pay a little visit to the Judge.  Got a few things we need to discuss, including just who the hell he thinks he is, and what the blazes he thinks he's doing," Danny told himself as he downed a considerable amount of that amber liquid.  With all he was unsure of, the one thing he knew in his gut, Brett had been set up, and by no one other than Judge Fulton.  "Along with who the hell the Countess really is, and what her game is."</p><p>It had taken more than a week, a week of constant attention, some firm bullying to make Brett do what the doctor ordered, but finally Danny felt comfortable leaving him alone for awhile.  Making the excuse of needing to collect some things from his hotel room, he prepared to set out.</p><p>"I'd hold off for awhile but I'm getting dishpan hands from washing out my unmentionables, Your Lordship.  It won't take long," he promised.  "Don't go answering the door while I'm gone; I'm not going through this again."</p><p>"Yes, well, there is no need to rush.  In fact, I see no need for you to continue taking up space here. Not that I am ungrateful, of course, I just no longer see the need," Sinclair declared.  "Unless you are finding the paying for a hotel room a strain on your finances; I believe you were telling me you had experienced some recent reverses in that area."</p><p>Of course, he was secretly relieved to hear that Daniel would be returning.  The man was better with the coffee pot than HE was, could turn out an acceptable omelette (although for some reason his scrambled eggs failed to meet the same standard).  Although, of course, the rest of their meals were of the order-in variety; still Daniel had been switching all that around - Chinese, Italian, Thai, Indian, though Brett could do without a repeat of the offerings from that odd vegetarian place a few blocks over, no matter how 'real cute!' that counter girl was.  And that last trip to the facilities, even with Daniel's assistance,  had admittedly left him weak and shaky, even after the extended bedrest of the past several days.</p><p>Perhaps it MIGHT be acceptable for Daniel to spend a little more time in his guest room, at least a few more days.  Maybe a few weeks even.</p><p>It might also be acceptable for HIM to spend the time while Daniel was off collecting his deplorable wardrobe in catching another quick nap.  Yes, that was an idea.  Certainly better than another attempt to remember what might have occurred during that period of emptiness that covered the time from when he'd been saying his goodbye to the Judge and the Countess at the party, and his waking up, exhausted and in pain, to find an equally exhausted-looking Daniel sleeping in the chair at his bedside.  </p><p>{"Can amnesia really be healthy?  Especially when it seems to be reoccuring?  It was bad enough the last time, when I sincerely WANTED to remember, felt I MUST remember for my own sanity's sake.  This time, I have the feeling I really do NOT want to remember, no matter how I'm sure I should.  Somehow, I get the feeling that my sanity might not survive my remembering."}</p><p> </p><p>Judge Fulton was livid, his hands shaking as he poured himself a large brandy to collect himself after that intrusion.</p><p>It was so totally unwarranted, so unfair!  Why, the very idea of Daniel Wilde accusing him of such an underhanded trick!  And making such ridiculous claims about a lovely woman like the Countess Moreau!  Unforgiveable, actually!  Hardly the act of a gentleman!  Though, he fumed, understandable coming from a ruffian like Daniel Wilde; the man might be able to ape the mannerisms of a gentleman, but it was only surface deep, after all.</p><p>Imagine, him bursting in here, loud, rude, saying such unacceptable things!  As if he himself were blameless!  In fact, though the Judge was too stunned to point out the obvious, it was Daniel Wilde who should bear any guilt if there was any to be awarded.  And it was obvious the man understood that, at least at a psychological level; his very appearance here, in the Judge's London flat, made that quite evident.  Wherever else would that fiery anger and resentment come from?</p><p>Yes, it WAS guilt, of course, projection, plain and simple!  After all, it was Wilde's impetuous behavior that was unconscionable, him with his total lack of civilized boundaries, though the judge supposed Lord Sinclair could share a bit of the blame.  Imagine, taking an opportunity to fight for Justice as an excuse for such inappropriate personal interactions, quite disregarding the strictures the judge had been so careful to put into place.</p><p>Oh, yes, HE had seen, at least enough to develop a few suspicions that they were far closer than he had anticipated.  He had never anticipated that, in fact, would have thought it highly unlikely!  </p><p>Why, wasn't that partly why he had chosen two such men, both highly skilled but so very different in nature, so that they would be able to work well with each other but NOT develop any sentimental ties??!   They were NOT to become friends, even of the very limited sort possible to two men of such different backgrounds.  Sometimes the judge even wondered it there wasn't something more, something beyond friendship, building there, though of course that was nonsense.  Even if so inclined, in general, Lord Sinclair would hardly allow any such thing, not with such a superficially-cultured upstart like Daniel Wilde!</p><p> </p><p>"Darling, don't let him bother you!  Yes, I know, he is tiresome and rude, but a superior personality such as yourself should not allow himself to be bruised by the unthinking words of such a peasant!" came from the doorway to the bedroom.</p><p>Judge Fulton got a dazed, almost-worshipful look in his faded eyes, an eager smile on his lips as he turned to face the beautiful woman posed in the doorway.</p><p>"You are right, of course, my dear Countess!  Still, after all I have done for him!  Done for them both, of course, but particularly him!  If not for my intervention, a peasant (and such an apropos term for the man) like himself would never have experienced the satisfaction of Fighting The Good Fight, searching to deliver Justice, the most noble of callings!  Being allowed to fight such a battle alongside a true aristocrat like Lord Sinclair!"</p><p>"So true," she sighed with a gentle reassuring smile, trying to hide just how annoying she found the man's babblings.  Well, she found everything about the man annoying.</p><p>Still, she supposed she owed him SOMETHING for arranging that delightful interlude with Lord Sinclair.  It had worked out far better than she'd anticipated when she'd glanced around into the minds of those present at that 'cocktail party' hosted by the ambassador of the country she now showed on her passport.  </p><p>She had recognized the potential immediately - a mind sharp in some respects, but bearing signs of deterioration in others - obsession, fixation, almost a megalomaniacal confidence in his own reasoning ability.  That had been promising, but adding to that had been a budding resentment, a tickling of a desire for revenge - {"no, not 'revenge'; he is far too 'noble' for revenge. Retribution for betraying what he sees as a 'holy cause'.  How utterly self-indulgent he is, and if anyone can recognize self-indulgence, it would certainly be me!  I specialize in that trait, after all!  I understand it well enough to use it quite easily."}</p><p>It had taken just a gentle manipulating of his subconscious, a reading of his suspicions, a tiny suggestion directly into his mind that perhaps an interlude with her would convince one or the other of his 'gallant knights' of their obligation to maintain a steadfast course, unhampered by any such close ties with each other.</p><p>Soon she found herself being introduced to Lord Brett Sinclair, smiled at him, took his measure, and found herself happily anticipating the hours, perhaps days that lay ahead.  Oh, she'd possibly get around to Danny Wilde; it would be a shame to pass him by, but surely she owed fellow nobility the courtesy of her first attentions.</p><p>Once she'd been welcomed inside Sinclair's flat, she'd carefully touched his innermost self, bracing herself for the warnoff of a shield, not that she'd truly expected to find one, but while there was an odd hint of SOMETHING, there was no burning, no electric shock, so she relaxed.  She wasn't quite sure what that little tingly buzzing was that she'd encountered, but at least it wasn't that absurd shield of 'true love', the bane of her LAST vacation.  {"Of all the curses that selfish Old One could have placed on the family, why THAT one??  It was so unfair!!"}</p><p>Well, she truly hadn't expected to find it here; during her long nap, her self-indulgent pampering at the family castle, she'd pretty well convinced herself that it had been an aberration, perhaps a result of that war.  {"Perhaps all those chemicals they had flying around everywhere.  It certainly wasn't something that should have persisted, not after so many hundreds and hundreds of years of being as UNcommon as a three-winged bird!  Surely it's well gone by now,"} she'd gratefully decided.</p><p>And in meeting Lord Brett Sinclair, in indulging herself in a truly gratifying, extremely nourishing time of absorbing a little blood, a tiny bit of flesh, and a great deal of hot, delicious essences, she'd cast the last of her qualms away.  No, THIS was how it should be, the way it had been before; not of the totally off-putting nonsense she'd come up against in Germany the last time!</p><p>And she'd truly believed that, up until the moment when she sent Daniel Wilde into a dazed semi-sleep, until she had reached for him and found herself once again left with a scorched hand and fingers aching from the electric blast that sent her reeling!  Damn that curse!</p><p>{"It shouldn't have happened,"} she wailed inside at the remembering of the pain, the shock.  {"It wasn't there with Sinclair!  How could it be there with HIM and it centered on Sinclair??!  Even at that Stalag 13 place, even at that ruin of a house in Germany, it was PRESENT in both, even if one didn't accept or acknowledge it, that 'true love' disease!  Here, it was only present in the American, not Lord Sinclair; how could it shield him like that??!"}</p><p>And then she remembered that little something, just a tingly buzzing she had encountered in Sinclair, not something she recognized, something that puzzled her, but she'd decided was unimportant, something that could be ignored in presence of such a lovely feast.  </p><p>{"Could that have been how 'true love' looks in its earliest inception, when it is merely a seed, not even a bud, but only the bare hint of a beginning?  Not enough to force me aside, at least not then, though perhaps, in time?"}</p><p>While she found that odd, certainly annoying, still it was an intriguing thought.  {"Perhaps next year, if I go traveling again, I'll return and see if it has grown, that seed, and if the shield forms in its presence.  I would prefer it not to be so, of course; it is most disturbing to think of that disease spreading, affecting others.   Why, if it should go on long enough, spread far enough, it could totally RUIN my vacations!  Perhaps there is a way to stunt that 'seed' before it grows, certainly before it becomes a bud, then a full-blown rose?  Now, what could cause a seed not to flourish - a blast of cold, a blast of heat, a lack of rain?  Hmmmmm, something to think on for the future.  After all, a severe allergy to roses DOES run in my family!"}</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The Rose</p><p>Some say love, it is a river, that drowns the tender reed<br/>
Some say love, it is a razor, that leaves your soul to bleed<br/>
Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need<br/>
I say love, it is a flower, and you, its only seed<br/>
It's the heart afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance<br/>
It's the dream afraid of waking, that never takes the chance<br/>
It's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give<br/>
And the soul afraid of dying, that never learns to live<br/>
When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too long<br/>
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong<br/>
Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows<br/>
Lies the seed, that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose<br/>
Source: LyricFind<br/>
Songwriters: Amanda Mcbroom<br/>
The Rose lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This story was already written, the title already selected, when the obvious theme song 'The Rose' stepped forward to claim that spot.  Indeed, what else could it have been?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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